


Fries, Wine, and Bubble Bath

by goddesswan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Bathtub Sex, F/M, Honeymoon, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 15:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10856421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddesswan/pseuds/goddesswan
Summary: A honeymoon fic inspired by Jen, the queen of our ship.





	Fries, Wine, and Bubble Bath

She dips her fingers in the water to test the temperature. Nearly scalding, just how she likes it.

“You know,” Killian murmurs sidling up behind her, wearing nothing but his boxers, pressing himself against her from head to toe and wrapping his arm around her front, tangling his fingers in the ties of her robe. “This has to be one of my favorite things about your realm.”

“What? Did you not have robes in the Enchanted Forrest?”

Maybe if she thought a little harder, she would have realized that wasn’t what he was talking about. But he always comments on how much he fancies this realms fashions, especially the undergarments. And her brain has been thoroughly jumbled by their earlier activities so she doesn’t beat herself up too hard for the comment.

“No, love,” he chuckles into her throat, sending a shiver down her spine, nosing at the fabric of his robe against her shoulder. “The water faucet. Bathing was such a tiring affair, especially aboard the Jolly, heating the water and transferring it. It’s magical to be able to simply turn a nob until you’re satisfied. And there was nothing nearly as delightful as these bubbles.”

His fingers have worked the knot of her robe open and are working on pulling the robe completely off of her.

“Oh,” she sighs as he slips her right arm out of the sleeve and kisses down her arm to her bent elbow. “When—When I was younger, I always wanted to take bubble baths but the uh,” He rocks his hips against her. “The families I stayed with didn’t offer such luxuries. It’s something I like to do for me every once in a while, I guess do for us now.”

“Were you planning on lighting those?” he asks, kissing back up her arm and hovering over the smattering of freckles on her shoulder blade.

She assumes he’s talking about the candles she has scattered about the room, over twenty in various sizes and scents. She flicks her wrist and suddenly they’re set ablaze. Another flick of her hand and the lights go out, leaving them in a darkened room with just the glow of the candles, varying degrees of light from the different lengths of wicks bouncing along the walls.

He hums, repeating the same process with her other arms, leaving the fabric of his robe pooled at her feet. “The glow of the candles looks excellent against your skin.”

“That’s why I brought them. So I’d look good,” she jokes weekly, faintly lightheaded at the feel of his lips sliding along her shoulder. He twists her in his arms, giving him a better angle to dip his tongue in the curve of her collar bone.

“Get in the water, Swan,” he says lowly.

“It’s Jones now, isn’t it?”

“Aye, that it is,” he agrees, smiling at her nearly blinding. “But you’ll always be my Swan.”

She swoons a little bit. The man definitely is charming. Although, she’s unsure how he would take that comparison to her father. (Who is she kidding? He’d love it.)

She steps into the tub—a large, white clawfoot, rising up on either side and dipping lower in the center but still deep enough to fit the two of them comfortably—and slowly slides down into the bubbles, moaning at the feeling of hot water against her worn out flesh. He gets in behind her, nudging her forward slightly, and settles against her back.

The feeling is delicious, the hot water mingling with the essential oils and, more importantly, all of his slippery skin against hers. She reaches one wet hand out of the water to grab her glass of wine she’s set nearby on the floor.

“Good?” he asks, running his fingers through the strands of her hair, wet at the tips, when she hums contentedly at the first sip.

_Perfect_ , she thinks to herself. Or, nearly perfect if her stomach weren’t beginning to protest. She dries her hands off with a nearby towel and waves one, producing a plate of hot fries slathered in cheese in her other.

“No,” he protests, shifting himself to reach for the plate.

“Why not?”

“I’ve learned to deal with many of your peculiar food habits but I cannot abide by this. You’ll get cheese in the water or the fries will get soggy and I refuse to watch you eat damp fries.”

“ _Peculiar_?” she scoffs.

“You ate pizza in bed last week,” he intones.

“I magicked away the crumbs!” He tries grabbing the plate again and she leans forward “No, I’m hungry and we haven’t done much eating, so I’m keeping the fries.”

“Alright,” he concedes, leaning back and continuing his ministrations of stroking her hair. The combination of the warm, melty cheese fries in her mouth and his fingers on her scalp is pure heaven. She can’t help but thank Zeus, or whichever deity that allowed them an actual chance to take their honeymoon. Or what will be the start of the actual event, tomorrow, sailing around on the Jolly Roger for an undetermined amount of time just her pirate and his two greatest loves, her and the sea.

Tonight, their pre-honeymoon is just as intimate though. And if the rest of it is half as good as this moment, the two of them bickering over fries in the tub, she’ll be a very happy Emma.

“Want one?” she offers, waving a fry in the air to which he answers with a firm "No."

She eats the fries contentedly, washing down the cheese with her wine, and Killian minds himself, humming and rubbing her shoulders the whole time. But as soon as she’s finished and sets the plate aside, his hand gets more adventurous. It slides down her front to rub circles over her belly. His hand trails up to just below her breasts and then down over her navel, brushing along her curls, ticking a line up and down, while he uses his hook to pull her hair off of her shoulder.

He attaches his mouth to the nape of her neck and sucks gently, then begins to slide his lips back and forth—around to one side, back to the nape, around to the other side—his peeking out every so often. His hook moves to her chest, the metal warm from the water, moving in small motions over her nipple.

“Take that off. I know how the straps chafe in water.”

“As you wish.”

Hurriedly, he removes the brace and tosses it to the side of the tub. He brings his now bare, blunted wrist back to her front and continues his movements over her peaked breast.

“Spread your legs a little wide for me,” he asks, voice horse, and she obliges lifting one leg to rest along the edge of the tub. “That’s it, lass.”

His hand slips down to her entrance, his fingers teasing along the slit, brushing the sensitive area in lovingly sweet motions. His fingers dance along in delicate touches, barely grazing the flesh, achieving nothing but driving her mad.

She can feel him rocking against her back, his length slipping along her ass. His mouth is restless against her neck, licking, nipping, and sucking, relentless against the delicate skin, and his stubble unforgiving. She pushes her hips up, desperate for some sort of friction, for anything. He takes the hint and brings his index finger to her clit. The pressure is soft are first, sending light shockwaves of pressure throughout her body. It’s just enough movement to make her feel _good_ but not enough to send her over the edge.

Before long the pressure deepens. He adds his middle finger to the mix and quickens his movements, rubbing tight fast circles. She feels his warm breath on the back of her neck and hears him grunt softly into her ear. He’s nearly as frantic as she is for her to find release and he starts whispering absolutely filthy things about how he just wants her to let go—"I want to make you feel good.“

Her orgasm crashes over her intensely and the only thing that keeps her from slipping below the water is Killian firm grasp, pulling her against him. "I’ve got you, love.”

She takes a moment, leaning against him, her head tucked back into the crook of his neck, and breathes slowly. The tingling sensation in her fingers and toes gradually fades and she’s left to the awareness of his straining erection pressed into her back.

She arches lightly moving her ass leisurely up and down along the velvety skin.

“Don’t toy with me,” he growls and licks along the shell of her ear.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Together, they maneuver her so that she’s twisted around in the water, facing him and straddling his hips. She has no desire to waste any more time, needing to feel his thick length pressing into her. Fresh off an orgasm and she’s practically vibrating with need for him. She grabs him firmly and guides him inside of her. Her hands move to rest on his shoulders—his goes to her hip—and she sinks down, biting her lip hard. (To keep from what? Being loud? They’re on their honeymoon she’ll be as loud as she damn well pleases, residents of Storybrooke be damned.)

They moan in unison when he’s fully seated inside of her and she sits, content to feel him filling her so wonderfully. She’s sitting in a warm bubble bath, with her husband’s dick inside of her, neither of them dead, and life is beautiful.

“Emma…” he moans after a moment.

“Shhh, I’m taking it all in,” she hums, running her hand through his hair.

“Could you take it in a little faster, dear? I only have so much restraint.”

She takes pity on him and begins to move up and down, leisurely. She luxuriates in the feel on him dragging slowly along her walls, thick and hot and just so _right_. He fits inside of her—fills her up—so perfectly and it’s just one more place that they’re a perfect match.

He begins to thrust his hips up more insistently so, she hastens her pace, rising and falling faster and faster until the room is full of nothing but the sounds of their heavy breathing, their uncontrollable moans, and the water splashing out of the tub, smacking onto the tile. She can’t be bothered to think about the mess they’re causing. It just feels too good. She’s sure Mr. Tidy himself can’t focus on anything other than the feeling of them slapping together.

His thrusts drag along her flesh in just the right way, hitting that spot inside of her perfectly and suddenly she’s falling over the edge again. Not as forceful as before, but the feeling is deeper, numbing out her mind and body. She’s vaguely aware of him moving beneath her, pushing himself into release behind her.

She lays against him, her nose pressed into her neck, utterly blissed out, trying to match her breathing with his.

“Ya did good, my husband,” she mumbles, sloppily lifting her hand to cup his cheek.

“As did you, my wife,” he chuckles and kisses the top of her head.


End file.
